Falling

You write of Icarus.
I saw the poem on your fridge.
A constant reminder.
Yet how many candles must we burn before we have our wings?
I see in your eyes you do not fear the sun, nor the dampness of the sea.
What do you fear?
I fear I’ll love the sun.
I fear I’ll love the clouds.
For falling is inevitable.
Will you be there to catch me?
We’ve gone through all the candles.
I have my wings.
Take me higher.
For I am falling.